


Intimacy / Confessions

by angededesespoir



Series: Grimmichi Week [2]
Category: Bleach
Genre: Aged-Up Ichigo, Angst, Blood, Dysfunctional Relationships, Guilt, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Multi, Serious Injuries
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-15
Updated: 2017-03-15
Packaged: 2018-10-05 14:19:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10310150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angededesespoir/pseuds/angededesespoir
Summary: [Oldfic; Originally posted on 6/16/16 on Tumblr.]Ichigo looks after a seriously injured Grimmjow.





	

**Author's Note:**

> _Day 3: Intimacy & Day 5: Confessions._
> 
> _This isn’t really set at a particular point per se, just sometime post their big battle in Hueco Mundo.  Idek most of the stuff going on in the current arc tbh; I’m not even halfway through the manga yet.  But I, uh, had an idea, so.....enjoy.....whatever this is. Hopefully they’re in-character enough.  *Sweating*_   
>  _(Also- side note, I like to age a lot of characters up, so I’m imagining Ichigo being like between about 20-24 in this (and just.....in general, tbh).....so I guess just imagine same timeline, but older Ichigo?  Also, for purposes of this story, let’s imagine that for some reason Ichigo & Orihime are in separate places and for whatever reason Ichigo can’t get ahold of her or she’s being delayed or detained by something/someone.)_
> 
> _(Also on[Tumblr](http://angededesespoir.tumblr.com/post/146005289250/mainly-day-3-intimacy-but-a-bit-of-day-5).)_

       There is worry painted on his face as he removes saturated bandages.  The blood makes him queasy- a reminder of how easily the blue-haired man could have died, how precarious the situation still is.  The man has been unconscious for days, his wounds still unhealed, still bleeding and he doesn’t know how to make it stop. He worries that if he doesn’t come to soon, he may never. 

      It doesn’t feel right, to see him laying here, relaxed and at peace and too, too quiet- no cackling laughter, lips in a loose line instead of beaming smirk, no threats, no anger.  Just a bleeding body whose bones are crushed and skin bruised, sliced, scarred, and far too pale.    
     He shivers and his hands tremble and with effort he tries to steady himself so as not to disturb the wounds.  He blots at unceasing blood, wraps the fresh cloth around him.  He finds his eyes inevitably drawn to the old scar, the one he caused, and he cringes, hands curling into fists as the memories claim his mind.

     Somewhere deep within him there is the rumble of laughter, the roaring of taunts, and the painful reminder of the laws of Grimmjow’s world.  It had to be done, and yet, yet.....  his eyes burn with guilt.  His heart is heavy. He gazes down at the man, the one they say is a monster- but he is not the enemy right now.

     Ichigo gently traces his hand, curls his own around it and imagines another time, when he was staring back at stubborn fire and trying to prevent another blow.  Now the hand he cradles is limp, the eyes of ice concealed.  
     
    There’s a lump in his throat when he rises, gently slides his hand away, and moves forward.  He bends in close to the man, brushes fingers over the bandage on his cheek.  Then he dips his head by his ear.  “ _Grimm.....,_ ” he hesitates, stops before he begins, tries to push down the rising emotion, tries to ignore the burn and ache of throat and eyes.  He swallows, tries again.  
  
    “ _Grimmjow, please.  Please, wake up.  I hate to say it, but...but having to fight you was better than this._ ”  He closes his eyes, tries to breathe, buries his head deeper into the cool neck.  “ _I’m sorry.  I’m sorry that I wasn’t strong enough.  That I couldn’t protect you._ ”  Another gulp, his hands have started brushing at blue hair- a fruitless attempt at distraction.    
  
    The soft feel only makes him feel worse.  Grimmjow is anything but soft.  And Ichigo should never have had the opportunity to discover an aspect of him that was.    
    

    His eyes are open, but his vision is blurred, his cheek is growing wet and a trail has leaked onto trembling lips, pressed against too cold skin.

     “ _Please.....I promise......I’ll get stronger for you.  I’ll give you the fight of your life.  Just, please......wake up._ ”

     He feels weak and inadequate and all his efforts at holding back are crumbling because suddenly he is that helpless, useless, guilty kid again.    
  
    Somewhere along the way, this man stopped being the villain.  Somehow he had wormed his way into his heart and had taken his breath away, like the time he had stabbed him in gut.  And now, now with no effort, with not even the ability to enjoy the satisfaction of it, the man was carving out his heart and consuming it whole.

    He shakes with the effort to contain his sobs, so if anyone is near they will not hear.  He is so focused on the pain and the tension and his lungs screaming for air, muscles in throat contracting painfully, that he does not feel the softness brushing against his cheek.    
  
    It’s not until a weakened, but surprisingly still strong grip yanks at his collar, drags him up and forward, and there’s the light feel of cracked, dry lips on his own, and bone biting into his skin that he realizes the miracle.  

    There’s a raspy laugh, pained and cut short, and between shallow, strained breathes he hears, “ _Thought...it was...over..., eh?_ ” The man smirks lightly, with effort, before his face drops to rare seriousness.  His grip tightens on collar, briefly, before loosening, dropping with the strain of the effort.  “ _We haven’t...settled...this..., Kurosaki_.”  His eyes are cold and hard and desperate for promise.  “ _You...owe me...another...fight._ ”    


    It would have been laughable, absurd, concerning to anyone else, that a man so wounded would first think of battle upon regaining consciousness.  But Ichigo understood that fire, that drive, that stubbornness that allowed them both to defy the odds.  He understood how important this battle was to him, to them both.  

    If Ichigo’s purpose was to protect,  Grimmjow’s was to destroy.  And it was obvious by the way he fought that destruction wasn’t just reserved to his enemies-  Grimmjow would not even spare himself.    
     
    Whatever reservations he had, it did not matter.  The action could only lead to death and they both knew it.  But it would also lead to the man fulfilling his purpose, lead to him finally being set free, allowed peace by being consumed by that which made him him.  

    He gazed into eyes, too often cruel, now almost pleading, seemingly tinged in fear.  Like he actually thought Ichigo might reject his request, like he believed yet another obstacle would confront him.

     “ _Fine._ ”  How could he refuse?  “ _But only after you’ve healed.  It needs to be a fair fight.  I can’t kick a man when he’s down.  That isn’t right._ ”  

     He would do anything for him.  He would do anything for those he cared for.  That was part of his purpose, too.


End file.
